Occasional Daily Weather Report; Thomas Fire’s impact on gardens and plant nurseries

Stepping out the back door this morning, my skin instantaneously felt the difference. Running to check the hygrometer on the front porch, that immediate sense of all-encompassing hydration was confirmed. The needle registered over 90 per cent humidity. The pergola eaves were dripping with morning dew, and the big, gulping lungfuls of air I ravenously inhaled were rich with moisture for the first time in the weeks since the second largest wildfire in California’s history broke out. Trivial annoyances, like this bad case of chronically chapped lips, will heal quickly. Healing a broken heart? I can’t imagine where you’d begin. The general news coverage and live, interactive fire maps, while terrific, have understandably lacked specificity. For example, along with all the human and animal lives in danger, I’ve also been worried about the fate of plant nurseries and gardens on those maps. This is where Instagram has come to the rescue. San Marcos Growers posted this message and photo on Instagram a couple days ago:

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Kniphophia ‘Christmas Cheer’ blooming with plumes of smoke from the Thomas Fire in the background. The nursery remains undamaged and OPEN !” San Marcos Growers 12/18/17

This message was posted this week by Lotusland:

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Not everyone has been so fortunate. Australian Native Plants Nursery lost nursery structures and offices to the fire.

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The Santa Barbara Botanic Garden, which I visited in October, seems to be okay, judging by this Instagram post today.

No word yet on the fate of the Taft Garden, at least that I can find. Winds are expected to pick up again later today. Stay safe!

Posted in climate, Occasional Daily Weather Report, plant nurseries | Tagged , , , , , | 10 Comments

bloom day December 2017

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I noticed just today that the big, sprawling Corsican hellebore seeded into bricks against the south CMU fence had begun to bloom and so was eligible for inclusion in this December Bloom Day report, hosted by Carol at May Dreams Gardens. Until we get the creeping fig (Ficus pumila) trimmed back on that wall, it’s a bit of a no-go zone. Keeping the wall trimmed is at least a three-times-a-year job that we’ve reduced to two times a year, spring and fall. Come to think of it, I think we skipped fall this year, which is why the overgrowth of the creeping fig nearly caused the blooming hellebore to escape my attention.

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I’ve been pinching back Eremophila glabra ‘Kalgoorlie’ to keep it dense and low, and trimming its branches off adjacent lavender and Phyllica pubescens, all the while worrying that these constant interventions might impact flowering.

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No need for worrying — it’s having its best overall bloom I’ve seen. Lots of little golden trumpets for the hummingbirds.

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I’m very impressed by how quickly the eremophila and grevillea shrubs have become winter mainstays for the hummingbirds. The largest grevillea in the garden is ‘Moonlight,’ with recent additions of ‘King’s Fire,’ pictured above, and ‘King’s Rainbow.’

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I love that the hummers and I share the same taste in plants, so to speak. I’m not exactly what you’d call a “flowers first” gardener, and perhaps it’s the height of selfishness, but I don’t think I’ve yet to include a plant solely for the pollinators that I couldn’t whole-heartedly admire as well.

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Soon to be augmenting the shrubs is the imminent arrival of the flowers of winter-blooming aloes, like this Aloe capitata var. quartzicola.

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Here again, the hummers and I are on the same page. We adore winter-blooming aloes. I wish I could devote acres to them.

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I’m counting five trusses this year on Aloe cameronii.

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Aloe ‘Moonglow’ has two bloom spikes, ‘Jacob’s Ladder’ just one, with a few more aloes still too young to bloom this year.

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Tecomaria ‘Hammer’s Rose’ is still blooming at the tippy-top of its 6-foot plus stems.

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A potted Rosa ‘Mutabilis’ has been a surprisingly eager bloomer in these cooler temperatures.

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I haven’t committed garden space to ‘Mutabilis’ yet and doubt that I will, because the sunniest real estate is already spoken for.

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The massive Pearl Acacia near the front of the house, Acacia podalyrifolia, seemed to erupt into bloom overnight, wafting far and wide that distinctive scent with notes of anise.

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Some succulents are as much about graphic lines when in bloom as out of bloom, like these flapjack kalanchoes I planted for winter, whereas I doubt anyone is growing the senecio tribe for its flowers.

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The “spoons,” Kalanchoe bracteata (Silver Spoons) and orgyalis (Copper Spoons) are also beginning to bloom.

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Little Echeveria diffractens is in bloom.

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Passiflora ‘Flying V’ still wants to throw some small blooms even though night temperatures are scraping the low 50s, which I know probably still counts as shirt-sleeve weather for some, but it’s definitely hoodie weather for me.

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This weird strain of Pelargonium sidoides, tiny flowers on tall scapes with big leaves, is starting to grow on me.

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The pedilanthus are another winter-blooming attractant for hummingbirds.

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Sky-scraping, tawny bloom architecture dominates the garden in December, with new contributions from tetrapanax and Bocconia frutescens pictured above, and old contributions from spent grasses and dessicated bloom trusses of Eryngium pandanifolium.

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With more golden notes from fallen leaves, like these Pseudobombax ellipticum. I forget where I read or who was telling me that in Southern California, as a general rule, there should be no planting done between Thanksgiving and Christmas, but the soil is so warm from the mild temps that I bet that advice can be safely ignored this year — that is, if the nurseries were filled with anything but wreaths, trees, and holiday gear. I’m impatient to discover how many ladybird poppies I can fit in for spring once the grasses and calamint are cut back, which can be done as late as February/March, and for nurseries to be flooded with new plants again. It’s always a conflict, the golden, mellow picture that greets me every morning and the urge to dig, to plan new pictures. Happy December Bloom Day!

Posted in Bloom Day | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

winter solstice 2017

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The winter solstice is little more than a week away, on December 21st, after which point the days will blessedly begin to lengthen again. Huzzah! There will at last be more and more light, always cause for celebration, even if some of these longer days turn out to be possibly the coldest we’ll have to endure. Eventually there will be no more winter sun shadow on a quarter of my garden, and I’m choosing to focus on that. Otherwise, I’ve always had somewhat of a minimalist, neo-pagan approach to the rituals of the winter holidays — decorate a tree, maybe some evergreens for the mantle, lots of cookies. This year’s approach is much the same, with just a few twists to keep it interesting. I usually jump into action about a week before Christmas, preferring the excitement of this concentrated-effort approach versus stretching it out over a month.

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This year I’m hoping to get to Phoenix to see the Desert Botanical Garden’s celebration of lights, Las Noches de las Luminarias. And instead of my diehard cookie recipes, I’m trying these salted caramel sandwich cookies this year, in an attempt to duplicate the ones we devoured at Sellands in Sacramento, where we stopped on a recent trip to the Oregon coast.

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And here’s a first: I made personalized Christmas cards this year, using these photos Mitch took of Duncan’s wedding at Heceta Head Lighthouse in Oregon in early December. (And an unaffiliated shout-out to Shutterfly. The results came in the mail today, incredibly timely and beautifully rendered.)

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The wedding was held here, at the former lighthouse keeper’s inn. For two wonderful days the hard-working staff fed us, kept our glasses full, and transformed Kristy and Duncan’s very personal, ceremonial wishlist into the wedding of their dreams. The stormy ocean thundered in affirmation, lace was spangled in sparkling drizzle — it was pure magic for us PNW weather junkies.

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What else? Jonathan Gold just released his list of the best tamales in Los Angeles for the holidays, so we might try to track some down for our own taste test. Barring that, I may make some tamales myself again. Oh, and I gave mulled wine a try, which might be more useful for scenting the house than for tastiness, but it really upped the festive quotient for me.

Even more festive is the opportunity to give a local reader a year’s pass to the Huntington Library & Botanical Gardens. Let me know if you’re interested. I’ll take comments here through the end of the year.

The winter solstice, with longer days just ahead — is this a wonderful time of year or what?

Posted in clippings, edibles, inspire me, journal, MB Maher, photography | Tagged , | 8 Comments

summer is overrated

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Agave bracteosa ‘Monterrey Frost’

I know those are fighting words, especially depending on where you live and your opinion of winter in general, and I’m not trying to pick a fight. We all miss those long days that stretch luxuriously into a warm twilight then blur into a sultry evening, when all of a sudden it’s 9 p.m. and you haven’t had dinner yet — but if you’re a bunch of plants living in a Los Angeles garden tended by one woman, November is indisputably on your side.

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And then there’s this intoxicatingly slanted light that makes my garden look like I’m walking into a Terrence Malick movie every morning.

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I’m embarrassed to admit just how much time I’m spending staring at the light this time of year. Usually the first pot of coffee is consumed in this sole pursuit, and sometimes the second pot too.

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And all because of this orbital business of the earth tilting on its axis, light once again becomes a friend and not a bully. And you can splurge on salvias as winter annuals, because unlike in summer the flowers open slow and last and last. (Salvia chamaedryoides x ‘Marine Blue’)

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The plants and I can finally relax.

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Okay, so Thanksgiving was over 90 degrees, but we know that’s a short-term anomaly that won’t stretch on interminably for months and months. We can deal.

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We can deal because we are closer than ever to the rainy season, however meager it may be.

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Sure, the days are shorter, but when the sun isn’t making you cry uncle anymore you find yourself immersed in those timeless moments like staring into and pondering the heart of natural mysteries.

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And then there are the winter-blooming aloes stirring, like Aloe cameronii.

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Counting aloe buds is a favorite pursuit this time of year. ‘Moonglow’ has two trusses budding up.

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Shriveled-up Aeonium balsamiferum relaxes again into plump rosettes.

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Succulents are so much happier in the cooler weather, giving positive reinforcement for experimentation and new mashups.

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I’m basically inventing stuff to do just to be outside — repot this, move that. Agave ocahui ‘Wavy Gravy’ was beyond ready for a bigger container.

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Neglected projects are pursued with a vigor not seen since spring. Rescue the hechtia being swallowed whole by the agaves in the gravel garden? Done.

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The long-delayed bird bath project? Done.

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And there’s the undeniable appeal of digging and moving heavy stuff around without breaking a sweat.

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Young potted plants love this gentle autumn light, as opposed to the scalding glare of summer.

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After a season of winter sun, Agave cerulata just might be ready for full sun next summer.

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Pelargonium echinatum is done with summer dormancy, brought back to life with a big drink of water.

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Agave xylonacantha finally gets a bigger pot.

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And because it’s such a joy to be outside, you try all kinds of crazy things with stuff on hand, like inventing new supports for tillandsias, birdbaths, etc.

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Just giving props to autumn, because it’s the most fun I’ve had in the garden since spring.

Posted in agaves, woody lilies, climate, Occasional Daily Weather Report, pots and containers, succulents | Tagged | 19 Comments

new and semi-new plants

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perky pilocereus at OC Succulents

What plants have grabbed your attention lately? Last week I was chasing down a hard-to-find compact form of one of California’s native buckwheats, Eriogonum giganteum var. compactum. The Grow Native nursery at Rancho Santa Ana Botanic Garden currently has about 30 on offer in 4-inch pots, reason enough for me to justify the hour’s drive to the foothills to grab three of them.

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I’ve been excited to trial this elusive form of St. Catherine’s Lace for some time. Even though the distinction between compact forms and full size can be subtle, if not meaningless, there’s no way of knowing other than growing the plant yourself. Salvia leucantha ‘Santa Barbara’ is supposedly a compact form, but I failed to note any appreciable difference in ultimate size. Currently I’m growing a so-called compact form of Tagetes lemmonii, the big, shrubby, late-blooming Copper Canyon Daisy with the fruity-scented leaves. Even confined to a stock tank, in its first year it’s closing in on 6 feet in height. I’m not one to heedlessly advocate dwarf forms of plants, but in small gardens they can be undeniably useful.

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In 2016-17 I was crushing on another buckwheat, Eriogonum crocatum, which was found at Theodore Payne’s nursery, glimpsed here in March 2017. It was last seen being engulfed by a miscanthus in mid-summer. It’s a lovely buckwheat, silver leaves with chartreuse flowers.

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Sometimes I have to grow a new plant a few times before a lasting impression is formed. I brought home Salvia curviflora last week, pictured above, thinking it was making its debut in my garden, only to find its debut was actually made in 2013.

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my garden, Kalanchoe thyrsiflora with Salvia curviflora, 2013

I ran across the 2013 blog entry on the salvia when checking on flapjack kalanchoes, which grow towering flower spikes in winter here. Recently Gail (Piece of Eden) had invited me to her home to attend a meeting of her garden club. Strolling her garden after the meeting, there it was, Kalanchoe thyrsiflora enlongated in epic bloom, whereupon I was attacked by pangs of envy.

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I always kick myself in winter for not persevering with this succulent through summer, when it has to be protected from being overwhelmed by rampant summer growth. But I love vertical lines in the garden, and no less in winter when everything else is in retreat, so I couldn’t resist a couple large plants in bloom I found discounted at OC Succulents in Torrance. Each blooming rosette will die off after flowering, hence the discount. I can grow on the offsets to blooming size or treat it as a winter annual.

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Lots of cacti in 2-inch pots at OC Succulents. Nicholas Staddon remarked that 50 percent of California nursery growers were lost in the recession.

The speaker at Gail’s garden club meeting was Nicholas Staddon, now with Village Nurseries after a stint with Monrovia, and he was full of interesting new plant news. I’d just planted this fall a couple Lavandula ‘Silver Anouk,’ which Mr. Staddon singled out as a great foliage plant, not particularly the best lavender for blooms. The variegated lavender ‘Meerlo’ is similarly best appreciated for its foliage since it rarely blooms, but it is long-lived, a rare trait in lavenders. Also exceptionally long-lived for a lavender, possibly up to seven years, is ‘Goodwin Creek Gray,’ heading into its second year in my garden. A compact leucadendron, ‘Hawaiian Magic,’ should be widely available in 2-3 years. Mr. Staddon considers Hesperaloe ‘Desert Flamenco’ to be the most floriferous, with 9-10 months of bloom, while Hesperaloe ‘Pink Parade’ has leaves as large as a yucca’s. Ceanothus maritimus ‘Valley Violet,’ with smoky purple flowers rather than the typical blue, has merited inclusion among the august company of other UC Davis Arboretum All-Stars, an honor not easily obtained. And the best desert willow in his opinion is hands down Chilopsis linearis ‘Desert Diva,’ discovered by Mountain States, for whom Mr. Staddon also consults. He also had glowing praise for Callistemon ‘Bottle Pop,’ among many other plants I’ve not mentioned.

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We all marveled at the rapid ascent in popularity of Acacia ‘Cousin Itt,’ even though most of us (excluding Kris, also in attendance) have had mostly poor results so far. Mr. Staddon suspects the difficulty may lie with nursery stock being lightly rooted, so check the rootball before purchase.

Posted in plant crushes, plant nurseries, Plant Portraits | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

autumn garden triage


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I spent most of October traveling, intermittently home just long enough to sweep up piles of ash and note that the customary accumulation of a summer’s worth of city grime on leaves had been augmented by heavy particulates from local wildfires. That smothering combination was especially troublesome for woolly, pubescent leaves like those of sideritis, some of which died, as opposed to the smooth, glabrous leaves of succulents like agaves, which could be easily hosed off.

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The big tetrapanax leaves seemed especially challenged by the combination of grime and then heat. I tried hosing off the black shadow monster residue encrusted in the rice paper leaves’ venation (how about that season 2 of Stranger Things?), without much success, and then the 100+ heat wave finished off most of the leaves, crisping and curling them into old parchment just as the flowers started to form.

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Even though I was absent most of October, it was easy enough to read the garden’s tea leaves and understand what a stressful time it endured without me. Lobelia fistulosa, tall and healthy when I left in early October, collapsed entirely in the Santa Ana wind conditions and high temperatures. In autopsy mode, studying its skeletal remains, I noted how it was bathed in strong sunlight as opposed to the morning sun/afternoon shade conditions in which it was planted. More tea leaves to read. It was then I realized my neighbor had cut back most of the overhanging canopy of his pepper tree while I was away. Rotten luck for the lobelia during a heat wave. This photo was taken last July with the caption: “Lobelia fistulosa, which looks healthy and on track to bloom next year.” Not on track after all, but now completely derailed. That Euphorbia stygiana had given up long before October. Euphorbias mellifera and lambii go to the head of the line as most reliable of the big euphorbias for my garden.

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No triage needed here: Recently planted Grevillea ‘King’s Fire’ flourished while I was away.

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You know that newly in love phase when a stunning plant first joins the garden? That’s where I’m still at with this gorgeous redhead with the silver leaves.

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Grevillea ‘King’s Rainbow’ was just weeks in the ground before the heat wave hit yet doesn’t seem fazed at all. My kind of plant.

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I always suspect Phyllica pubescens is just waiting for any flimsy excuse to die, but to its credit it did endure a very hostile October.

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The bocconia in the back is sporting some seriously bare nekkid legs. As the fleshy leaves are continuously shed, they slide to the ground with a loud plop. Lots of plopping going on. Hopefully, its winter plumage will fill in soon.

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Leaves of Aloe cameronii became somewhat ruddier, not a bad thing at all. And I can’t believe I let Aeonium ‘Mardi Gras’ deal with full sun all summer, but I did, and it’s fine.

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Senecio palmeri, shown here planted in September, shrunk by two-thirds. I cut off the dead growth and remain hopeful for the rest. I saw lots of this senecio at Santa Barbara Botanic Garden recently, where it was flourishing in full sun, so I know it’s tough. (SBBG has a great nursery, and I couldn’t resist bringing home Lephechinia fragrans ‘El Tigre,’ which I had just seen in a local SB garden the day before. I’ve mostly been steering clear of lepechinias since trying out L. hastata, which is much too big for my garden.)

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A shallow bowl of Echeveria purpureum purpusorum left in full sun looks none the worse for wear.

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While some of my agaves showed damage, Aloe striata withstood the heat wave’s blast without blemish. The little silver leaves belong to Dichondra sericea, brought home in May 2016.

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Like Aloe striata, the silver spoons kalanchoe is recommended for sun or partial shade. Even so, it sailed through the 100+ temps and dessicating winds and is now getting ready for winter bloom.

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Agave geminiflora keeps coloring deeper and deeper. Again, not a bad thing. I’m so attracted by this ruddy contrast with silver that I dialed it up by adding for winter a ‘Red Planet’ cordyline with some rusty-colored aechmeas and pale Cotyledon orbiculata dug up from elsewhere in the garden.

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Agave ‘Blue Flame’ was showing leaf burn even before the heat wave, after I pulled off some pups and exposed that previously protected side to full sun. I cleaned it up a couple days ago, cutting off most of the burned leaves and cleaning out the debris that accumulated under its leaves, a nasty job. I felt as virtuous afterwards as if I’d cleaned out under the fridge. And then I had to offer that scratched arm to the phlebotomist yesterday for a routine blood draw. I don’t think he understood what “cleaning out an agave” really means.

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Another trouble child I fret over is Agave gypsophila ‘Ivory Curls,’ which is especially prone to leaf-tip burn. Maybe, in this instance, crowding it among other plants provided some measure of protection.

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Agave ‘Royal Spine,’ which had burst through and shattered its previous pot, got a new home when the potted Adenanthos ‘Silver Haze’ succumbed to the heat. I had left the agave in its shattered pot all summer, which I justified as a form of open-air root pruning (or neglect, if you insist on looking at it that way).

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A grassy-leaved aloe hybrid, Aloe ‘Topaz,’ recently moved into more sun, is finally throwing its first blooms.

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It was getting swamped mid garden but immediately responded to the increased air circulation and full sunlight on its leaves — which is basically the story of so many plants in my garden, which would prefer to live at the edge and not the interior. Unfortunately, there’s a fixed amount of “edgy” real estate available. Just yesterday I moved an Aloe camperi to a sunnier location. I do this a lot, growing new plants in less-than-optimal conditions until more accommodating digs open up.

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Aloe conifera hated being in the garden, but has been coaxed back to life in a container.

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With the changing light, potted plants are once again on the move, like the variegated form of Kalanchoe beharensis brought out into the post-heat wave, softer autumnal light.

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The past couple nights raccoons have been roughing up bromeliads planted in the ground, turning them over for slugs and snails. Aechmea bromeliifolia var. rubra in a container was unscathed.

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That’s probably enough plant talk! It just feels so good to dig around again in the cooler temperatures. And there’s talk of possible rain for Los Angeles the next couple days.

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Have a great weekend.

Posted in agaves, woody lilies, garden ornament, garden travel, garden visit, journal, pots and containers, succulents | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

postcards from Santa Barbara gardens

Ever since the area became accessible by car and rail in the early part of the 20th century, it has been a favored location for estates and marvelous gardens, among them El Fureidis, Val Verde, and Lotusland. — The Lightest Touch; Isabelle Greene’s Enduring Design for the Lovelace Garden.

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Last week I found myself in Santa Barbara on a Mediterranean Garden Society bus tour with garden lovers from all over the world; Australia, Spain, Portugal, Italy, England, Greece, Switzerland. That I managed to be there at all was entirely due to the kindness of Shelley Harter, who answered my laughably tardy inquiries two days before the tour was to begin and said yes, there was still space available and I’d be most welcome. I don’t know why I’m always surprised when these sketchy, last-minute plans of mine pan out, because it’s been proven again and again that plants and garden people are unfailingly the nicest, warmest group of people I’ve ever had the privilege to know. Even when late October temps uncharacteristically reached a stupefying 105 degrees Fahrenheit, the comaraderie never faltered as the bus chugged along roads against the majestic backdrop of the Santa Ynez Mountains.

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The MGS annual meeting took place in Los Angeles/Pasadena the end of last week, and the Santa Barbara tour of Lotusland (which I’d visited a few times before, see here), the Santa Barbara Botanic Garden, and other estates and private gardens earlier in the week was denoted as a “pretrip” to the annual meeting. Marty and I camped at El Capitan State Beach and drove in to town to meet up with the tour bus each morning. While I toured, Marty visited museums, swam in the ocean, ran along the beach, then met up with me around 6 p.m. every day to head back to our camp, where we explored the beach then roasted sausages over a campfire as bats took wing into the twilight sky. It was a little slice of heaven less than three hours from Los Angeles.

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Santa Barbara is permeated by Spanish influence, starting with its name and ending with its building codes, which after the 1925 earthquake mandated that all new buildings be relatively low-slung and constructed in the Spanish Revival style. This design homogeneity, as well as the mediterranean climate, reinforces its reputation as the “American Riviera.” The climate easily encourages any budding love of plants and gardens, just as the periodic droughts, price of water, and fire ecology push back hard to test that love. Hearts are broken, meetings with insurance adjusters are set, and some choose not to rebuild. Nearly every garden we visited contained at least a few charred trees, while some houses and gardens were entirely rebuilt after the devastating Tea Fire of 2008. A landscape architect on the tour from Northern California, whose house was destroyed just weeks ago in the wine country fires, said seeing these homes and gardens reborn gave him some much-needed optimism.

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The Spanish/Moorish influence is seen in the gardens as well, in the use of evergreen hedging, shaded seating areas, water running in fountains and rills, vistas arrayed along an axis.

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This owner-designed private garden is a modern-day example of the Country Place Era, a period in landscape design beginning in the late 19th century extending to the 1940s, when European influence was the inspiration for the early 20th century American estates designed by the likes of Jens Jensen, Beatrix Farrand, Fletcher Steele, Lockwood de Forest, Jr., Warren Manning, Charles Platt, and Ellen Shipman.

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Oil jar encircled with Agave attenuta, box, and in the background, clipped westringia, which Australian visitors instantly recognized. The international perspective on the gardens was a huge part of the enjoyment for me.

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This garden had just days before replaced lawn pathways for crushed rock. I can’t imagine the green of lawn here now, as the crushed rock emphasized the garden’s place in a landscape surrounded by buff-colored mountains that shimmered in the heat. To my eye at least, the crushed rock also strengthens the overall design, contrasting with the evergreens.

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Other areas of lawn, used in the past for games for a younger household, have been whittled down as well. The owner expressed her frustration with drip irrigation and has decided to rip it out. You just never know when the drip hoses are failing until something is dead, was one of the reasons she gave, along with the spike in water bills being the only indicator of a leak somewhere in the system. She keeps a daily water journal, recording meter readings for the garden which are kept separate from the house’s water use. The privacy the family prizes from trees surrounding the property is constantly under threat as trees and shrubs die off in the current, extended drought. Last winter’s rains unfortunately favored Northern California over Southern California.

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Succulent gardens were another theme, and there were fantastic collectors’ gardens on the tour. These hoses are a crucial clue to this garden’s good looks in late October. The owner, Jeff Chemnick, a field botanist, irrigates once a week and is liberal with 20/20/20 fertilizer too. He said his cycads in particular were suffering and yellowing before this regimen. Since visiting this garden, I’ve been wondering if my succulents suffer leaf burn in heat waves because I’m so stingy with water.

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There were acres like this, packed with rarities of cactus, palms, cycads, tree aloes, cussonia, agaves. An intriguing twist to this garden is that everything you see is for sale, catering to those desiring large, mature specimens. Any resultant gaps in the garden happily make room for newfound acquisitions, many waiting in the wings, grown from seed collected on his frequent expeditions to Mexico. If he’d rather not part with a particularly rare agave, for example, he simply places an absurdly high price on it. Some of the largest, most pristine Agave guiengolas I’ve ever seen were in this garden. (You can read more about Jeff Chemnick, who handled our barrage of questions with incredible good humor, on his site Aloes in Wonderland.)

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The pachypodium in flower drew lots of interest from tour-goers.

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Isabelle Greene’s work was the most naturalistic example on the tour, avoiding hard angles where possible and settling lightly into the surrounding chapparal. The naturalistic swimming pool she designed for the Lovelaces in the 1970s was a revelation then and is still as shockingly serene today, crazy as that sounds. I guess I’m used to overly designed gardens, not underdesigned, yet this quiet vision is the result of an enormous engineering undertaking. All rocks were found on site. This sensitive treatment of the landscape honors many thriving heritage oaks, which are notoriously distressed by supplemental irrigation.

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More examples of Isabelle Greene’s work. (A visit I did not record to her own house and garden was a highlight of the tour.)

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Lockwood de Forest, Jr., in addition to his work on Lotusland, worked as landscape designer for another estate on our tour, Casa del Herrero, a national historic landmark built in the 1920s, “considered one of the most fully developed and intact examples of America’s Country Place Era that took form and flourished on the West Coast in the early 20th century.” (see here).

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The eight-pointed star is rich in meaning to many cultures throughout the millenia, here seen in the shape of a shallow pool/fountain at Casa del Herrero.

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The “House of the Blacksmith” is now controlled by a nonprofit at the behest of the original owners’ grandchildren. (de Forest’s work on an estate many consider to be the apex of the Country Place Era, Lotusland’s neighbor, Austin Val Verde, will remain unseen for the foreseeable future, currently in private hands after years of contentious legal disputes that successfully beat back plans to open the estate to the public.)

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Swimming pools help ease the heat of the long, dry summer.

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The recent addition of a skirt of paillettes has given this bench as much sparkle as the sunlit pool.

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I had to look this one up. The Blue Ginger, Dichorisandra thyrsiflora, in Jeff Chemnick’s garden.

Attending the Mediterranean Garden Society’s meeting in 2018 will take a little more careful planning on my part. It will be held in Costa Blanca, Spain.

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some upcoming dates October 2017

I was at the Huntington last Sunday to attend a talk by author Andrea Wulf (“The Invention of Nature“) on Alexander von Humboldt. If Ms. Wulf has scheduled speaking engagements in your area, I urge you to attend. She is a mesmerizing speaker, as fluent and voluble on her subject as the polymath Humboldt was reputed to have been on his many subjects of interest (agriculture, manufacturing, geology, botany, zoology, meteorology, mapmaking, among others), in that slim window before specialization took over the natural sciences, when information began to flood in beyond the capability of one human to thoroughly comprehend. Perhaps you’re already aware, but I was surprised to find that many events such as these are now free, requiring no admission to the Huntington. In fact, because of the new layout, all of the Huntington up to, I believe, the rill garden is free, and many of the lectures are held in this area.

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Alexander von Humboldt and Aimé Bonpland collecting plants at the foot of Chimborazo in today’s Ecuador; aquatint from Humboldt’s Vue des Cordillères et monuments des peuples indigènes de l’Amérique, 1810–1813, via The New York Review of Books. I’d sooner give up dark chocolate than my subscription to the NYRB.

Wulf’s talk focusing on Humboldt’s South American expedition was part of the Huntington’s “Visual Voyages: Images of Latin American Nature from Columbus to Darwin,” an offshoot of the Getty’s ongoing “Pacific Standard Time: LA/LA initiative,” “a far-reaching and ambitious exploration of Latin American and Latino art in dialogue with Los Angeles,” across multiple venues that, after years of planning, has coincidentally arrived at a political moment underscored in irony.

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Beginning October 28, the Huntington offers up its archives of botanical drawings “In Pursuit of Flora: 18th-Century Botanical Drawings from The Huntington’s Art Collections.

Another date I’ve calendared is December 10, 2:30 p.m., “Cochineal in the History of Art and Global Trade.” “Alejandro de Ávila Blomberg of the Oaxaca Ethnobotanical Garden and Oaxaca Textile Museum will explore the historical and cultural significance of this natural crimson dye. Used from antiquity, cochineal became Mexico’s second-most valued export after silver during the Spanish colonial period. Free; no reservations required.” Shirley Watts introduced me to this subject via Natural Discourse.

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Now on to upcoming plant sales. There’s lots to choose from. The Los Angeles Times has done an excellent job of corralling the sales, so I’m cutting and pasting from their article:

Oct. 21-22

35th Friends of U.C. Riverside Botanic Garden fall plant sale

Cactuses, succulents, wildflowers, native plants, trees, house and shade plants, even cool-season vegetables … UCR’s Botanic Garden sale has just about everything. The list of plants is available online. Master gardeners and other vendors will sell edible plants and offer classes. Admission to garden $5 donation; once inside entry to the sale is free. 10 a.m.-4 p.m. Oct. 21 and 9 a.m.-3 p.m. Oct. 22. 900 University Ave., Riverside; follow signs to the garden. Info: UCR Botanic Garden Fall Plant Sale

Oct. 21-23

San Diego Botanic Garden fall plant sale

The year’s biggest fundraiser for the San Diego Botanic Garden, also known as Quail Botanic Garden, offers California natives, succulents, bromeliads, sub-tropicals, perennials, fruit trees and house plants, many propagated from the garden’s stock. Admission to the gardens is $14 ($10 seniors and students) on Oct. 21; $5 on Oct. 22 and 23. Once inside admission to the sale is free. 10 a.m.-4 p.m. Oct. 21-22, 9 a.m.-noon Oct. 23, when all plants are half price. 230 Quail Gardens Drive, Encinitas. Info: San Diego Botanic Garden fall plant sale

Oct. 26-28

Theodore Payne Foundation for Wildflowers & Native Plants annual fall sale

The region’s largest selection of California native plants for beginners and seasoned gardeners, plus native seeds and bulbs. 8:30 a.m.-4:30 p.m. Oct. 26-28 at 10459 Tuxford St., Sun Valley. Info: Theodore Payne Foundation fall sale

Oct. 27-28

Los Angeles County Arboretum & Botanic Garden fall plant sale

Offering drought-tolerant/low-water plants, landscaping and ground cover plants, herbs, scented geraniums and succulents. Book sale too. Admission to the gardens is $9 ($6 for seniors 62+ and students with ID.) Once inside admission to the sale is free. 301 N. Baldwin Ave., Arcadia, 9 a.m.-4 p.m. Oct. 27-28. Info: LA County Arboretum fall plant sale

Oct. 27-29

Huntington Library fall plant sale

Large selection of California natives, including manzanita, salvia, buckwheat and ceanothus; popular Southwestern plants such as tecoma, Texas ranger and chocolate daisy; and Australian natives ideal for our climate, such as grevillea (spider flower) and callistemon (bottlebrush). Herbs, cactuses, succulents and bulbs too. 10 a.m.-5 p.m. Oct. 27-29. Admission to the gardens is $25 on Oct. 27, $29 on Oct. 28-29 (seniors 65+ and students with ID, $21/$24 on the respective days). Once inside admission to the sale is free. 1151 Oxford Road, San Marino. Info: Huntington Library fall sale

Nov. 4-5

Fullerton Arboretum California native plant sale

More than 100 varieties of California native plants, propagated by the arboretum’s horticultural staff. List of available plants online. 10 a.m.-4 p.m. Nov. 4-5. Admission to the arboretum is $5 donation; once inside admission to the sale is free. 1900 Associated Road, Fullerton. Info: Fullerton Arboretum native plant sale

Temps are going to climb back into the 90s, even up into the 100s again, so bring water and a hat!

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And that’s not all. If you want to catch up with what garden designer and ceramicist Dustin Gimbel has been up to, head to the Artistic License Fair, October 20-21.

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Also, up in Northern California, Cornerstone Sonoma’s postponed Harvest Festival will be held this weekend, October 21 and 22, with proceeds going to support victims of the recent wildfires.

And the Mediterranean Garden Society will be holding their 23rd Annual General Meeting in Pasadena, California, October 26-29, 2017. I just might be able to shoehorn in the Santa Barbara pretrip, fingers crossed.

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Posted in artists, clippings, plant sales, pots and containers, succulents | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

garden touring England in October


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Palm house at Kew Gardens

I started daydreaming out loud, oh, about three weeks ago, that it’d be so much fun to attend the Great Dixter Autumn Plant Fair, with vendors and speakers coming in from all over Europe on October 7 and 8. Whenever I mentioned the crazy scheme, to my complete surprise, I got nothing but encouragement in response. Mitch had points for the air miles, Duncan and Kristy offered to watch the cat and parakeets, and Marty was completely game. I was enthusiastically urged to go, do it, make the necessary plans. Really? Is it that simple? Yes, it is. The week before we left, I researched renting a campervan and strategically located camp sites, hastily scribbled on scrap paper other desirable destinations, and on September 30 we launched ourselves out of the U.S. and into the narrow, winding back roads of southeast and central-ish England for almost two weeks, aided and abetted by the trusty sat-nav in the van and map apps on our phones. Several days were spent prowling around London as well.

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On such short notice, and although technically no longer prime tourist season, campervan selection was limited, and there wasn’t much afforded by our vehicle in the way of camping other than a place to sleep. However, the campsites are uniformly well-appointed with amenities, including showers and laundry rooms.

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Medieval castle built on site of a Roman fort in Pevensey, near our campsite at Norman Bay.

Along with Great Dixter, we stopped at Kew Gardens, Marchants Hardy Plants, Great Comp (for its amazing salvia collection), Derry Watkin’s nursery Special Plants near Bath, the incredibly impressive RHS Wisley, and the gardens and house at Bloomsbury artist Vanessa Bell’s Charleston. Except for Dixter and Kew, we didn’t repeat visits to any of the nurseries and gardens we saw on our last extended visit about 24 years ago.

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Choisya ternata and mahonia, plants we repeatedly saw all over London

After spending the first couple nights in an airbnb in Chiswick, London (conveniently within walking distance of Kew!), our first campsite wasn’t any farther away than South London, the area known as Crystal Palace, where Joseph Paxton’s gigantic cast iron and glass conservatory-like structure built for the World Fair of 1851 was moved.

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A fire destroyed the structure in 1936, but its ghostly outline can still be traced in the footprint of the Italianate terracing and guardian sphinxes.

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The entire site is now a huge park that was always filled with happy dogs and their owners whenever we walked through to get the train into London. Camping culture is strong in England, and finding campsites is no problem. Some do shut down in the fall, but there are plenty open year-round. We had about four nights with no camping reservations at all but managed to fill in the gaps and find campsites while on the road. It was definitely a seat-of-the-pants trip that worked out amazingly well, in large part because England is an easy country in which to become vagabonds for a couple weeks. Wifi is abundantly available, either free or cheap, and gardens and specialist nurseries are dotted throughout the country (though many are closed at the end of October). It is a Disneyland for plant lovers.

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From Crystal Palace we set out for the southeast counties, first stopping at Great Comp in Kent.

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The nursery tables blazed in a rainbow of salvias, one of the most complete collections of salvias in England, if not the world.

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England this October was cool and overcast, a heavenly respite from the hot, dry fall of Southern California, whose temps the last couple days have spiked into the mid 90s. It rained just one night, a delicious sound on the campervan roof. Relying on an easy-to-pack wardrobe of sweaters and walking boots was a thrill only an Angeleno would understand. And did those walking boots get a workout! We generally walked over 2 miles each day, from the campsites into the local towns for dinner, and fell into the campervan happily exhausted every night.

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Everywhere, the big grasses were a glorious sight, along with subtropicals at their peak, jewel-colored dahlias and salvias. The countryside was ablaze in brilliant fall color.

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Tetrapanax, salvias, dahlias and cannas/bananas at Great Comp.

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Melianthus, salvias, and dahlias at Great Comp.

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Asters/symphyotrichum, Great Comp.

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The Great Dixter plant fair fully lived up to my expectations, with a painfully tempting selection of plants on my wish list, including Eryngium ebracteatum and Miscanthus nepalensis. (And Fergus Garrett literally guides you into your parking spot.)

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Dixter’s gardens were in great form too, heavy on late-season excitement.

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It drizzled lightly and briefly the day of the fair, but not enough for an umbrella.

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The Exotic Garden was standing-room only this late in the season, with plants nearly covering the walkways.

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After Dixter, we arrived at Marchants Hardy Plants very late in the day, after closing time, in fact. Owner Graham Gough graciously allowed us to wander the gardens as the light faded.

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Salvia atrocyanea and miscanthus at Marchants Hardy Plants.

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Aconitums and persicaria, Marchants Hardy Plants.

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From the southeast we made our way up to Oxford and then Bath, where I wanted to visit Derry Watkins’ Special Plants Nursery.

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A bed of salvias, Special Plants Nursery.

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It was such a pleasure to see in person many of the rare plants I’d only read about in her e-mailed catalogues.

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Barge boats on the River Avon. A tow path along the river led from our campsite into Bath.

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Wisley was a bit of an afterthought, conveniently located on the way back to London. As a Royal Horticultural Society teaching site, I wrongfully presumed it might be on the stodgy side. Thank god Marty talked me into stopping. It was extraordinary, but unfortunately camera batteries had run out, and I left my backup battery in the charger at home. This relatively new glasshouse is a small part of the 240-acre grounds.

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Autumn in England as a travel destination is definitely my cup of tea.

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fall planting: what happened to my phlomis?

It’s fall planting time in Southern California, and I’m planting phlomis. And it’s deja vu all over again. I like to think that the blog functions at least as a personal resource, a planting reference that at a minimum chronicles successes and failures. (e.g. How many times have I tried to grow asphodels? Four times now?) But it seems my enthusiasm for the constant churn of new plants outpaces any thorough documentation of their ultimate fate in the garden. And as we all know, those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. Is the definition of garden insanity growing the same plant over and over, expecting a different result? Not necessarily. Different light and soil conditions, air flow and air circulation, or lack thereof, all vary wildly even in a small garden. And then there’s the variables of excessive heat or drought, fall vs. spring planting. So trialing the same plant over and over isn’t as crazy as it sounds. For now I’ll admit to being a tad forgetful, but not crazy.

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Take phlomis. I love everything about phlomis for the dry garden, the tidy, corrugated leaves and the nubby, pagoda-like architecture of its blooms. I’ve grown many kinds of these mint family members distributed from China through Eurasia to the Mediterranean: P. italica, P. tuberosa, P. russeliana, P. purpurea and, as of this month, Phlomis lanata again, pictured above, which is one of the smaller kinds. Many have become too large or failed to thrive (such as italica and tuberosa). But haven’t I tried P. lanata before? And, if so, when? And, more importantly, what happened to it?

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Phlomis lanata with the fern leaf lavender, Lavandula multifida, February 2014, when I mentioned I was “very excited” to see how this so-called Pygmy Jerusalem Sage performed, and then the documentation pretty much stopped. This lavender is notoriously short-lived, but not the phlomis.

Browsing the back pages, I did uncover that I last planted Phlomis lanata in fall 2013, which was buried in a post of March 2014. But further research this morning into the history of phlomis in the garden brought more questions than answers:

What happened to the Phlomis lanata planted in fall 2013? I would like to speak to someone in charge, please. Who’s in charge of this garden blog anyway?

Were the phlomis a casualty of removing the giant Yucca ‘Margarita,’ which became an enormous, multi-headed hydra the summer it bloomed five times? That demolition was documented on October 15, 2015, a fact I found buried in another Bloom Day post. Thank god for Bloom Days. There’d be no documentary discipline without them. Is that what happened to my phlomis?

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April 2014, Yucca ‘Margarita’ with Phlomis lanata at its base.

So a note to future self: Two Phlomis lanata were planted September 2017, with optimal conditions of full sun, good spacing and air circulation. Ditto for a couple Lavandula ‘Silver Anouk.’ My working theory is that these smallish shrubs get buried under the summer growth of grasses, castor bean plants, salvias, etc. A small, treasured golden phlomis from Cistus, ‘Sunningdale Gold,’ only made it through summer because it was protected from overgrowth by a large metal basket.

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Phlomis lanata, May 2013, in a local hell strip, with feather grass and Teucrium azureum.

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Phlomis purpurea in 2010.

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Phlomis purpurea also in 2010, with Xanthosoma ‘Lime Zinger’ stealing its thunder.

Digging Dog Nursery has an extensive list of phlomis on offer, should you wish to try some for the first, second, or even third time, as does Cistus.

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